


strange gifts

by shepherd



Series: ffxii week prompts [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Developing Relationship, F/F, Gift Giving, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Sometimes Fran can be a bit much.
Relationships: Fran/Penelo (Ivalice Alliance)
Series: ffxii week prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731145
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	strange gifts

A blade ready in Penelo’s hand had seemed a long distant memory, and a polearm even fainter still.

She carried her dagger by her side often. It was plain good sense. Walking Lowtown was no more dangerous than the city streets high above but Penelo often had much to consider. Personal safety, of course, and her belongings alongside what she carried for Old Dalan or Miguelo. It was rare indeed she had to pull her blade, let it gleam wickedly beneath the light. More common since the Consul brought his men along, and she had been meaning to give Filo a little training and advice –

But then Vaan’s little scheme had gone up in smoke, sent shrapnel scattering, and here they were.

The sands of the coast were warm beneath her toes. Her boots, polearm and satchel lay close at her side. Within the Hunter’s camp it was safe. Never safe enough to truly unwind but Basch’s careful eyes were somehow everywhere at once. Even if some talented soul managed to get the jump on her, Basch would be upon them in moments.

It was a delight to relax if only for a few spare minutes. It was a pleasant change to soothe her sore feet, though Vaan was endlessly moving. The man couldn’t comprehend a moment of stillness and as often as Balthier loved to wax poetic about his woes he slyly encouraged it, talking through the finer points of weapons on sale, murmuring about the hunt board. Ashe talked at length about practicalities, about doubling back to slay a beast or two within the wood, while they were here, and then another on the way back through the coast. It was good sense, though Vaan cared only for the thrill, and Balthier the coin.

A rush of water met her toes. Penelo exhaled happily, perfectly content to stretch back and close her eyes. The heat was pure perfection. It was just like home, though without the slickness of humidity and with gentle winds. Some of if not all her worries fell apart, washed away by the steady tide.

Time was lost to her beneath the call of the gull and laughter of fellow travellers. Penelo knew full well she could easily fall asleep here. She would feel no shame if Vaan shook her awake and laughed, teasing about sand in unsavoury places, crabs ready to pinch vulnerable flesh.

Before she could drift into light slumber there was the unmistakeable sound of sand crushed underfoot, growing closer, and instinct kicked in. Penelo sat up sharply, hand splayed toward her belongings, and glanced behind her.

Paces away, Fran paused. Her expression betrayed nothing. “I startled you.”

Immediate regret scalded Penelo’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she stressed, mortified. “I thought – I thought you were Vaan, coming to mess with me.”

“I see.” Fran turned her head, pointing northwards at the very centre of the hub. “Your friend is conversing with the captain. They discuss the matter of curatives.”

“Oh,” Penelo said, still uncertain. “Well, hopefully they’ll be done soon.”

Cool ochre eyes returned to her. Fran struck an imposing figure in the sunlight, two tall bows slung over her shoulder. She was as deadly as always and often wholly unconcerned with most of her companions. It was very often that Penelo still had no idea what to say to her after all this time.

It didn’t help that the woman often left her tongue tied. Fran drew every eye no matter where she went, and Penelo was just another admirer who went unnoticed. One day she swore that she might say something wise, just to earn herself an approving look. Until then Penelo would constantly be struck by her beauty and power.

“May I approach?” Fran asked, when life was just upon the cusp of becoming awkward.

“Sure,” Penelo said, and budged up in the sands to sit closer to her belongings, knowing to give Fran her personal space.

Fran took it in silence. Long and elegant legs folded, bows carefully laid across her lap to avoid any damage. And they were huge – Penelo had thought the last had been big, though it had looked modest compared to Fran’s towering height. It was clear she had been shopping and her replacement was even grander, solid dark wood and tipped with steel that caught the sun. Ornate carvings covered sections, elaborate patterns that caught her eye.

She burned to ask. An embarrassing curiosity had plagued her since childhood, but thankfully her parents had installed a sense of cautiousness. Penelo held her tongue, having no doubt Fran enjoyed the silence.

“You enjoy the sun,” Fran said after a beat and Penelo started. It sounded like a statement. With Fran it could have been a question or even an accusation.

“Yeah,” Penelo nodded, praying her voice was welcome. “Feeling it all intense and sitting on the sand - reminds me of home.”

By her side Fran stared directly forward, lost in the rhythm of the ocean. “Your home was indeed warm. An admirable city – I had been only scant times before.”

“That’s nice,” Penelo replied, and had no idea what to say next. It left her floundering in awkwardness, lost between the waves. As always Fran seemed to be immune to it. Sometimes Penelo feared she pretended to be for the sake of politeness. “Do… do you like being by the ocean?”

Fran nodded. It was a simple, single bow of her head. “I have met many viera since I left the Wood, and we all see the same truth – wild waters are the truest beauty of the world beyond. The sea is the finest jewel of them all.” Firm eyes met Penelo’s dead on. “Have you visited the port of Balfonheim?”

She wished. Never had she been any further than the southern banks of the Nebra – long, long before all of this. Fran must have been all across the world half a dozen times over, and here she was, sat talking with a dull orphan girl, one who had never even heard of Balfonheim.

“No. I’ve barely been outside of Rabanastre,” she admitted, shyly. “I’ve never seen the sea before. Only the Nebra river. It’s beautiful, but nothing like the things you’ve seen, I’m sure.”

For an extra moment Fran watched her, unblinking. A soft breeze caught her stunning hair, pale like whisps of smoke. Penelo’s mouth dried out. There were no women like Fran all the world over. Not in Balfonheim, not in the furthest reaches of Rozarria. She was sure of it. “I understand,” she murmured, voice low and flawless.

Over the years Penelo had met no viera. She had seen several, growing up in the kingdom capital, but never had the chance or boldness to speak with one. They were graceful and illusive, private yet overwhelming women that put Penelo to shame all throughout her lanky early teen years. But not one of them held a candle to Fran - looking at her for too long was like staring into the sun.

Penelo watched her still but eventually dropped her gaze. She was missing her favourite quiver, a gift Balthier had claimed to give her years past. It had looked old enough with peeling, cracked leather. Now she carried only her bows, her axe nowhere to be seen.

Once more an unsteady quiet settled between them. A wash of waves to soothe her skin and gift her with gleaming stones could no longer distract Penelo. It was exceedingly rare for the two of them to interact, let alone sit so closely together for so long. While it wasn’t entirely discomforting, unfamiliarity gnawed at Penelo’s chest. A faint line of tension connected them, an awkward current of energy that could not release. Fran was calm and noble, quiet and intense. She was tall and bold, armed to the teeth and Penelo lightly feared her and yet was fascinated in equal measure.

Faintly Penelo wondered if her old bow was also an old gift. Fran was not a woman who permitted any waste and she sold trinkets without pause. But her old bow was wrapped in the same old leather, aged in many noticeable places.

Before she could change her mind she leaned forward. “Your old bow,” she began. “Was it a gift?”

For the briefest moment Fran may have been surprised. She thought deeply, hand braced against her weapon. “Of a sort,” she said slowly, almost reluctantly. “It no longer serves me sufficiently, yet I find myself unwilling to part with it. It is… useless to me, as it stands, and yet…” A wry smile quirked her lips. Penelo found herself staring at them often. “It is not a feeling I am well accustomed to.”

“Oh, I get it,” Penelo grasped for any single thing they could relate to. “When I was just a kid I got given this cute bracelet, one that I really loved.” Her friend had snatched it for her, but Fran didn’t need to hear those details. Unless, Penelo thought, she may have approved of rebellion’s humble beginnings. “Then I got bigger and bigger and it wouldn’t even fit on my wrist. I wanted to keep it because it meant so much to me, but I had no use for it anymore. It was just nostalgia.”

The story felt useless once complete. But remaining perfectly kind, Penelo knew Fran pretended to care on her behalf. “And what did you do?”

Uselessly Penelo shrugged. It felt embarrassing to continue. “I gave it to a girl I knew,” she said. “She was older, and didn’t have a lot of money for her daughter. It fit her and she liked it, so I just thought… why not? It’s just memories to me know, and those will stay.” The beads were flawless, cast as deep as the ocean. It may have still been a cheap old thing, not out of place on a small girl’s wrist, but she had been overjoyed. Her expression was a distantly held memory. Still it made Penelo smile.

It was unfamiliar to see the smile mirrored on Fran’s face. It was small but warming. “That was most kind of you.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Penelo waved it away and clasped her hands together. Grains of sand agitated her palms. “I just don’t like the idea of waste. Never have.”

“I agree,” Fran said, and that was that.

On the horizon there was nothing but wisps of cloud. It was picturesque, just as wonderful as the plains they had crossed, the tombs they visited. Maybe plundered was a better term. Despite their shared goal Penelo had done her best to be respectful. Through everything she was grateful to be here, side by side with Vaan again, experiencing the world.

Some things never changed. Others did for the better, and others worse. Penelo never dared dream she would sit side by side with a sky pirate who treated her with nothing but kindness and patience, who was gorgeous and a force to be reckoned with. Penelo sat with her toes in the surf, enjoying the pale sands, and basked upon their fine morning and her fortune.

“Maybe you could hand it to another adventurer,” she said, eyes closed against the amorous sun. It felt good to wind her hair up into one bun, exposing her nape to the sunshine. “So it won’t be wasted but you’ll know someone else cherishes it. Maybe better than selling it on, but it’s up to you.”

There was a low, thoughtful hum. Something shifted in the sands. “Perhaps,” Fran murmured, voice lingering.

“It’s just – it’s lovely, you know? I’m sure someone out there will love it.”

“Of course,” she said, and Penelo barely heard her. Instead she tuned in to the call of the hunters, the thudding of cargo boxes being shifted. Across all those she caught Basch’s laughter, muted as it could be. It was all the relaxing sounds of a vibrant community hard at work. Penelo let it nestle within her heart, another pure memory she would hold onto always. Maybe if she were lucky it was not all that Penelo would ever see of the coasts.

Vaan’s dream had been a point of contention between them for years. Penelo could certainly see the allure of freedom, of travel. Thievery was another matter entirely. But to fly over crystal waters without a care, to live and breathe without relying on the generosity of those such as Miguelo, as free as Fran and Balthier to go wherever they desired – it was becoming more and more attractive with each part of the world they uncovered.

“Perhaps,” Fran spoke, as Vaan barked out a familiar laugh across the way. “I may pass my bow to you, and perhaps teach you the techniques of our wood-warders.”

Penelo could have choked. Her eyes flew open, head snapping around to find Fran already watching. Still she wore that smile, turned mysterious.

It was unthinkable. Weeks had passed and she had tried hard to forget the chill of such beautiful people, the harsh stares she had received. They would be outraged. A hume was hardly meant to carry such knowledge. “I – I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“You could,” Fran continued in the face of her disbelief. “You are patient, and focused. I saw what happened a week past – Vaan stood paces away and yet your apple struck true. You have the reach. You carry the talent and potential if you possess the desire to learn.”

“Oh, I,” Penelo began, and had no clue how to continue. While she floundered, Fran watched and Penelo could have sworn that she was omniscient. “Surely your family would be angry.”

With a droll smile, Fran shrugged her slim shoulders. The bows upon her lap shuffled. “How will they know?”

Stunned and silent Penelo bowed her head. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear only to untuck it and fiddle. It was her worst anxious habit.

Fran’s pace and thoughts remained undisturbed. “You are correct. A gift should remain such, and you are who I trust above all else to cherish it, and then pass it to another when no longer needed.”

“What about the princess?”

“She is loyal to her blade,” Fran said bluntly. “She may respect the art but will carry her own as a proud daughter of Dalmasca. I trust only you.”

It was a powerful blow to the chest. The steady eye contact between them broke Penelo down little by little. Still she stammered uselessly. Hunting like a viera – it was unthinkable, but to make Fran’s grace her own, to have Fran’s steady hands guide upon Penelo’s, her eyes watching her closely. It beggared belief.

Flame burnt her cheeks. “Thank you,” she mumbled, preparing a painfully polite denial. “It’s so kind of you. But-”

“Then it is agreed,” Fran interrupted smoothly, a pointedly determined look upon her face. Penelo’s jaw clicked shut. “Next we shall pass into the Tchita uplands. We will begin our training when we make camp. There will not be time once we pass into the caverns of Sochen.”

“Oh,” Penelo wavered. “I think-”

“I possess the correct equipment for a pupil,” she continued. “I am sure this is entirely new to you. Do not fear – I have been informed many times I am a stern tutor. However, I will be gentle towards those who show their worth.”

Her fate had been decided. There was no room to wriggle free and the acceptance of her doom settled into her hollow chest. There was only the grit of determination in Fran’s eyes.

It really was a beautiful bow. Penelo wondered how well it would fit in her hands. She gnawed at her lower lip until she tasted blood. “If you’re sure.”

Fran’s smile stretched wider. It was the grandest she had ever seen it, even as Fran stood beside Balthier, murmuring wickedness together. “I am sure,” she said, and then feet pounded against the sand behind them.

“Hey,” Vaan said breathlessly, skidding in the sand. Grains were thrown over Penelo’s bag and she huffed with irritation, shaking the worst off of her satchel. “We’re going!”

Without a word Fran got to her feet. She shouldered both bows effortlessly, her own bag close at hand. With one last lingering look out towards the water she turned on her heel, leaving the humes behind. Penelo watched her go, hips swaying, and hair tossed.

Single-minded as always Vaan didn’t notice. Instead he peered at Penelo’s face, curious. “What’s got you all red?”

Gods, it was noticeable. The burn worsened and was harsher than the bare touch of the sun. “It’s nothing,” she lied, and Vaan’s eyes narrowed.

Everyone knew Penelo was a hopeless liar. There was some traitorous tell, a twitch or worry. Penelo wasn’t sure. None of her wicked friends would tell her. It seemed everyone else in the world could sniff out lies easily. “Tell me,” he cajoled.

Hopping up she snatched her things. It was tempting to give him a solid whack with her polearm. But it was hopeless – Vaan knew no fear. “Go away,” she told him with no heat and stomped up along the dunes.

“Hey,” he protested again, scurrying after her, slipping. They crossed over to the peddler by the boats, following Fran’s own tracks. She had quickly joined the rest just ahead, standing silently as Balthier and Ashe listened intently to the captain. “What did Fran say?”

“None of your business!”

“C’mon,” he exclaimed, loud enough for Balthier to glance over. He arched an elegant brow and Penelo focused on the offering of aid.

“Tell Vaan to leave me alone,” she insisted, pulling her slipping bag back over her shoulder, and two pairs of eyes rolled. Ashe touched her temple as if a migraine dawned.

“Gods,” Balthier breathed and Basch laughed quietly.

“There’s little time for games,” he told them fairly, fondly, and allowed Penelo to stand by his side. Vaan dare not harass her so closely. “We shall be moving through the coast through morn, and with luck, we shall be camping within the plains before evening fall.”

Basch knew the lay of the land second to none. It was he who made their plans, often with input from the all-knowing Balthier, and the others offered nothing else. As he spoke Vaan often tried to catch her eyes. Always Penelo ignored him. Instead she took one last lingering look at the hunters and fishermen, dozens of people passing through the campsite every hour. Then, with a start, she caught Fran’s eye.

The viera was already watching her. Their eyes chanced across one another. Penelo cheeks grew hot once again and she prayed that Vaan would not see, afraid of checking. But Fran smiled at her, one half encouraging and the other sly.

A tingle formed in her chest, a full body blush beginning to spread, and Penelo had time enough to think, _oh, no_.


End file.
